An Injured Illusion
by Winter Winks 221
Summary: Dawson tends to a patient who has been a victim of an unknown attack, and he later finds that he is definitely not one for seeing through deceptions... (rated T for violence in third chapter)
1. Chapter 1

Who in the world would do such a vile thing?

I list names to myself as I thread my needle. A young female mouse lies on the davenport. Her fur was brown flicked with a light grey; her light blue dress is mutilated like her slender face and there were gashes all over her forehead. She was in a bad way, and needed my utmost urgent medical attention, the poor thing. The lamp flickered as I recalled how I came by her...

 _I had just returned from my rounds when one of Basil' s Irregulars came up to me and had told me that he and some other lads had found a battered, bruised and bleeding young woman just round the corner from Scotland Yard, so I had hurried there with him, and it was there that I encountered a tragic sight._

 _I paid the young guide, and sent for Inspector Lawless to assist me carry the lady to 221 1/2 Baker Street. She had deep, wide gashes to her head and face, a bruise on her left eye and a broken wrist. Her dress lay scattered round the gutter and her right ear had been badly nicked by a knife. From my meagre powers of deduction, combined with my sufficient medical knowledge, all I could partake from that horrific crime was that the foul deed had been done with a butcher's cleaver. Had not some divine intervention happened, she would have been ruthlessly slaughtered for no crime. As it was, she was unconscious and barely breathing._

 _The police could not find anything when they arrived, save for what I had already discovered myself._

After she had been checked over, Lawless, another constable and I had taken her here for treatment, as the nearest hospital was full due to a cholera epidemic.

...

"How's she holding up, Doctor Dawson?" A voice asks.

"I fear she may not make it through the night." I reply sadly. "The poor woman- she's so young."

"I know, Doctor, but you can't save everyone, no matter how much you want to." Mrs Judson tells me. "It pains me to say it to you, Doctor Dawson, but at least God will have mercy on their souls." She wipes a tear away. "Do you need anything else?"

"I require more thread, please, Mrs Judson, if you can spare any." I tell her, looking at my own woeful spool, now completely bare of black thread.

"I'll give all I can, but I haven't a lot left." She warns me.

"I'm sure it will be fine." I assure her as bravely as I can, though a look at the clock tells me I have a long battle to fight. One against time and fatigue, as well as death itself. My hands were stained with her blood, like her midnight blue dress. She was very thin, much like my dear colleague and friend, Basil of Baker Street. Which reminds me, where was he?

...

I kept on stitching her wounds and cleaning her blood until six o'clock the next day, which meant that I was worn with exhaustion, but I felt relieved as my patient is faring a lot better now than when I found her.

Feeling unable to sleep, I went to the bathroom to wash up and change clothes. As I did so, I heard someone stumbling round the living room downstairs, amid a loud curse. Realising my friend had returned, I hurtled out of my room and dashed downstairs as quickly as I could to hopefully prevent him from waking the young lady.

You could probably imagine my bafflement, dear reader, at finding no lady on the davenport, but my friend, the esteemed Basil of Baker Street himself, on the floor, wincing.

"Ah, good morning, my dear Dawson," He tells me casually. "I was hoping I would catch you this morning. I do want"-

"Basil, where the devil have you been?" I ask angrily, as I make my way over to the davenport. "You were gone all night with no explanation as to your whereabouts!"

My friend looks up at me, and starts to try to explain about his latest case, but I suddenly notice his right ear, followed by the rest of his face. It was covered in stitches sewn up black and navy blue thread, and I immediately recognise it, as well as the stitches.

"Basil, were you the..."

My friend just harrumphs impatiently. "Yes Dawson, there was no young lady here last night- I was in a disguise!" He exclaims impatiently.

Glaring at him, and feeling unwilling to speak to him after everything I went through, I storm off to the kitchen to make coffee. As you could guess, I was not at all happy with Basil at the moment- he had not bothered making any communication with me last night, and then he never revealed his true identity whilst I tended to his wounds. I had fretted about him when he had been here all along!

My thoughts are interrupted by someone grabbing my wrist. It was a firm grip, but not so firm that it hurt. I slowly turn around to see the great mouse detective looking at me with great melancholy in his green eyes.

"Dawson, I...I would like to apologise for not sending you word last night. I know you could not help staying home last night. You're not to blame for any of this, Dawson."

"But I feel that if I'd just ignored my leg pain you wouldn't be in this mess..."

"Dawson, your leg was hurting you last night. As much as it pains me to say of you, my friend, you would not have made very much difference to the outcome. Also, there is a chance I miscalculated the attacker's strike and got the comeuppance for such an idiotic flaw."

"But, Basil, old boy, you didn't deserve to be left lying in a gutter for dead!" I exclaim in shock.

"But indeed so, I am grateful to you for helping me out, Dawson. At least I have a true friend who is willing to overlook my folly." He manages a small smile at me. "Thank you, Doctor, for your efforts and compassion in your medical attention."

"Well, that's quite alright Basil." I tell him, softening a little. "I'm just glad you pulled through. It looked very grim for you at one o'clock in the morning."

He gives me a rueful look, so I take his paw in my own and gently patted it with my other one comfortingly.

"I do hope you promise to be more careful in future." I tell him firmly, but with my usual benignity.

"Ah, I have been warned against making promises I cannot keep." He tells me, but he squeezes my paw gently. "I shall, however, attempt to make sure that I do not make such erroneous calculations again."

Then his face hardens to one of determination and excitement at the thought of the case. "So, my dear doctor, are you up to helping me solve this case?"

"Yes, of course," I reply. "But I recommend you heal first. Neither Mrs Judson or I have any more thread in the house."

I almost wish I hadn't said that, for he decides to take to finishing an experiment with sulphuric acid and bromine. But _almost_ \- I still do not wish for my friend to partake in anything related to the case out of doors for fear of reopening his wounds.


	2. Chapter 2

"Basil? What the deuce were you doing in disguise?" I question later, as our goodly housekeeper, Mrs Judson brings us coffee and some hot breakfast. I thank her politely before turning to stare at the eccentric sleuth.

My friend casts me a rueful glance. "I was out on a case, Dawson- one that did not sorely require your attendance." He tells me, waving a dismissive paw in my direction.

Hurt, I scowl at him.

"Of course, until that unfortunate ambush- I owe you my life, Doctor- without you; I would have bled to death." He adds awkwardly on seeing me so upset, patting my paw reassuringly.

"I am happy to have been of assistance," I reply, softening a little towards my friend, for I can see that his remorse is earnest, and I cannot find it in my heart to be furious with the fellow. "I trust you are feeling better this morning?" I ask, more out of politeness than anything else, for he is moving about- despite the fact that I have insisted that he should not move.

"Fit as a fiddle, Dawson." He tells me facetiously. "Now, about the case"-

"Basil, I object!" I raise a paw. "You have disobeyed my orders enough by getting off the couch, and I must insist that you go on no cases until you have recovered!"

He folds his arms, and pouts at me.

"And do stop sulking," I add crossly, glaring at the detective, who gives me an equally venomous green glare in return.

"I mean it." I inform him, quietly. "You could have died last night, old chap- I do not wish to go through such an experience again. You were in disguise- so well that I could not recognise my own flatmate. If you had died at my paws without me realising until it was too late..." I trail off, realising that he must resent me for my display of sentiment. Through tear blurred eyes, I see his face- but not clearly enough, and my eyes sink to my lap, trying to stop any tears from escaping.

I push my chair back, and rise awkwardly. "I apologise, old boy. I should leave. I...I have my rounds." I inform my flatmate. "I shall be gone all day."

"Dawson, I forbid you to leave"-

"Oh, you forbid me to leave?!" I snap, "I'm not the one recovering from a knife injury- you are!"

"Dawson, please. I merely wish to say that I do not want you to leave until I have said what I wish to say to you."

I nod in acknowledgment, and take one step forwards.

"I am a reckless fellow, Dawson- both professionally and personally. This I cannot deny, not with the facts undeniably pointing to such a conclusion. I am also aware of the dangers of fighting crime in our society, but I...never realised that you would be thus affected by my near death last night."

He said nothing more, but instead crosses the threshold and takes hold of my paw, before giving it a very gentle squeeze.

Taken aback, I look up at my dearest and closest friend, and see an oddly tender expression etched on it.

I manage a small smile. "Thank you, Basil. Now will you promise to stay at home to-day and recover?"

He grumbles, but nonetheless agrees to do so, and I decide to take his word for it.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely. "Perhaps on my return you could indulge me in an account of this case." I add in suggestion.

He nods. "I may as well. Have a good morning, Doctor."


	3. Chapter 3

However, my morning was not as pleasant as Basil had wished that morning. It poured dreadfully, and I had lost my umbrella to one of Basil's odd experiments (which also required sulphuric acid and some duck feathers) so I was soaked by the time I reached my first patient's house.

Mrs Ethel Wetherby was unsympathetic to my drenched look, and instead complained bitterly about her broken foot.

"My foot's not healing fast enough, Doctor Dawson!" She said shrilly, much like a kettle on the stove. I winced inwardly- I have been her doctor since I became Basil's partner, and although I do feel sympathy for her due to her not being able to walk, I found her a very...frustrating patient, to put it politely.

I tried hard to do what I could to help- but I could not do very much- except advise her about some pain relief and not to leave her bed unless absolutely necessary. My other patients were either equally lacking in compassion- or didn't feel very well at all and just wanted to rest instead of being bothered by my well-meaning doctoring.

To make matters worse, I slipped and fell into a gutter on Half Moon Street and nearly got washed into London's sewers. Fighting for dear life, I managed to find salvation in a kindly rat, who saw me struggling to swim due to my injured shoulder, and rescued me. After ensuring I was capable of getting home without further aid (for he was in a hurry) he allowed me to go.

Soaked to the bone, my fur clinging for dear life onto my skin and my clothes stuck to me firmly, I soon found myself longing for a hot bath and a steaming, soothing cup of tea- not to mention a delicious, warming meal from Mrs Judson.

And although it was not needed, I did long for some meaningful conversation- having had to deal with coughs, sneezes, mumblings, groaning and pure, utter, bone shaking silence.

...

"Goodness gracious, Doctor Dawson! You're soaked through! Come in, come in!"

Mrs Judson hauls me in by the wrist and shuts the door against the howling winds and the lashing rains, before helping me out of my coat. I have never felt so grateful to be in 221 ½.

"Thank you, my dear lady," I shiver.

"I shall run you a bath, Doctor, and get you a change of clothes." She tells me, before darting away.

I stand there, feeling a right goose- and I catch a glimpse of long limbs awkwardly lying across the red armchair by the fire.

"Hello, Basil, my dear fellow!" I greet joyfully, and I hear my friend stir.

"Um- oh, afternoon, Dawson," he mumbles. I take note of his ruffled fur and crumpled robe, and I make my deductions.

"Are you suddenly feeling tired after your last case?" I ask.

"No- fire was warm," He answers sheepishly, and I scowl- I still feel dreadfully cold and wet from my rounds.

He says nothing more- especially as Mrs. Judson returns to announce my bath is ready and ushers me away.

...

After an hour and a half warming up, I sit with my flatmate with some hot tea and the promise of a delicious supper on the way.

"Well, Dawson- how about I tell about my case?" He asks me, suddenly, and I glance at him in surprise, before agreeing.

"Very well then. You see, Inspector Lawless asked me to investigate a seeming suicide of a gentleman in his 20th year."

"And?"

"It wasn't a suicide at all- someone had murdered him with a housewife's chatelaine." He continues, and my eyes widen.

"How, my dear fellow?"

"Really, Dawson? Come on, old chap- you know better than to ask such a vile question in my presence!"

"Well, it is an unusual choice of weapon." I remind him.

"He was strangled."

I must confess, I did feel somewhat disappointed on hearing this- I had been expecting something far more dramatic.

"So, after using the thread in the hussif to locate the chatelaine's owner, we track the villain down to using some gunpowder found at the scene of the crime."

"This is making no sense, Basil," I tell him, baffled. "Why would there be gunpowder at a scene where the victim was strangled?"

He just taps the side of his nose, and I fall silent again, feeling as enthralled as a schoolboy on hearing this strange tale.

"We tracked them- that is, the murderer and an accomplice- to Piccadilly Circus, who were talking about...erm, I shall not repeat it to you, my dear fellow- no, no, no." he shudders. "I returned to Baker Street and disguised myself as a young lady, and returned to lure the villains into a trap. Unfortunately, they did not show up. Realising to my chagrin I made a very erroneous miscalculation, I tried again- by myself-the next night."

"By yourself- but that was very foolish!" I scold.

"I realise that now, Dawson." He replies. "I did not think it very probable they were going to strike that night- but unfortunately, they had also made a miscalculation, and so, our paths were crossed to meet. I witnessed them...I witnessed one cut off a mouse's head, Dawson..." he says, quietly, his frame trembling.

I feel my heart sink and anger rise inside at this. "What happened?"

"I saw a female mouse...she was dragged outside her home by these brutes, screaming, begging, crying. I was about to charge over and stop this...but one of them took out a butcher's cleaver- and hacked away at her neck, with her screaming and begging to the Lord first for mercy- then for death."

He quivers, ever so slightly, but I sense his fear. "Then, horrified by the scene before me, I foolishly let my guard down and I was seized by one of the mice responsible. I...I only remember feeling the cleaver strike me, and the cold, sinister smile upon me and my suffering, Dawson."

I nearly cry out in horror and sadness at this travesty which has befallen my dearest friend.

"Basil..." I rise and go over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He jumps out of his fur- until he remembers it is only me, and he relaxes.

"That night shall haunt me, dear doctor. I thank the Heavens you did not bear witness to such a heinous crime."

"And I am very grateful that I was able to tend to your injuries." I tell him quietly, taking my friend's paw in my own, before giving it a comforting, supportive squeeze. Basil says nothing more, but he smiles gratefully at me.

Just as Mrs Judson brings in our supper- two steaming bowls of cheese and broccoli soup.


End file.
